


buckets of moonbeams in my hands

by likewinning



Series: little beasts [51]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Knifeplay, M/M, whole lotta crazy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-05
Updated: 2015-07-05
Packaged: 2018-04-07 18:23:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4273389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likewinning/pseuds/likewinning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rain makes me crazy. Please just come bail me out. [http://asofterworld.com/index.php?id=381]</p>
            </blockquote>





	buckets of moonbeams in my hands

Jason meets him at the police station half an hour after he calls. His hair is wet from the rain, Blind Melon t-shirt soaked straight through, and once they get outside Jason pushes him against the brick, squeezes both his wrists and says, "You scared the shit out of me, kid."

Tim doesn't apologize, just leans his head back and looks at him, and his eyes are dilated to hell, lips chapped and his hair a mess.

"They didn't have anything on me, if that's what you're worried about," Tim says. "I burned my prints off years ago. And anyway, Bruce –"

Jason puts his hand over Tim's mouth, and he smells like rain and gasoline, must have been running a job with Dick before he got here. "That's not," Jason says. "Jesus, Tim, if you'd been –"

Tim stares at him, the kind of vacancy in his eyes that makes Jason shiver. "You scared of losing me, Jason?"

 _Yes._ "No," Jason says. "Come on, let's get a fucking cab and go home."

He tugs on Tim's wrist, but Tim slips out of Jason's grip, ignores the taxi Jason hails and keeps walking. It's still pouring rain, and it makes Tim think of summers by himself at his old house, how he'd sit outside on the lawn for hours just so he wouldn't have to hear his parents bitch at each other.

"How much was bail?" Tim asks a few blocks later.

"Doesn't matter. What did they have you in there for, Tim?"

"Oh," Tim says. He laughs, and Jason shivers again, blames it on the rain. "You know, I always thought the drunk tank was sort of a myth."

Jason wants to laugh, but he also wants to have a heart attack. If Bruce finds out – even for something like this, if Tim's this much of a risk to _them_ , this operation –

Tim turns around, and the streetlamps hit his eyes just right, and Jason wonders if Tim ever could've been normal, could've been _happy_ like other people are happy, not with a knife in his hand but with something else.

Jason wonders what it means that he's glad Tim's _not_ like that.

"You can tell him, if you want," Tim says. "I don't care. If he wants –"

Jason grabs him, pulls Tim up by the collar of his shirt and kisses Tim's chapped lips, holds Tim's face until his teeth stop chattering, until the next time Tim looks at him he looks a little more like the crazy little fucker that Jason wakes up to most mornings.

He gets Tim back to the loft, strips him out of his wet clothes and drags him into a hot shower, soaps up Tim's hair and then gets down to his knees for him, grips Tim's thighs and sucks him off until Tim pounds at the shower tiles and shouts his release.

After, when Tim's dried off and sitting on top of him in bed, carving cuts across the ones Jason has already, Tim says, "It's just the rain sometimes. Thanks for bailing me out."

Jason thinks it might be the first _thank you_ he's ever heard from Tim, but he doesn't comment on it, just says, "You're welcome, baby," and laughs a little too hard when Tim digs his knife in deep at the word.


End file.
